e a habit of his to study the
localities over which they rode.

"Country looks good round here," he suggested.

"Yes," agreed his friend.

"What we lookin' for anyhow, Bob?"

"Wood, grass, and water."

"Well, they're right here, ain't they?"

Bob had been thinking the same thing himself. They saddled and quartered
over the ground carefully. There was a wide stretch of meadow close to
the junction of Elk Creek and the river. Upon part of it a growth of
young willow had sprung up. But he judged that there was nearly one
hundred and fifty acres of prairie. This would need no clearing. Rich
wild grass already covered it luxuriously. For their first crop they
could cut the native hay. Then they could sow timothy. There would be no
need to plough the meadow. The seed could be disked in. Probably the land
never would need ploughing, for it was a soft black loam.

"How about roads?" Bob asked. "The old-timers claim we'll never get roads
here."

"Some one's going to take up all this river land mighty soon. That's a
cinch. An' the roads will come right soon after the settlers. Fact is,
we've got to jump if we're going to take up land on the river an' get a
choice location."

"My notion too," agreed Bob. "We'd better get a surveyor out here this
week."

They did. Inside of a month they had filed papers at the land office,
built cabins, and moved their few possessions to the claims. Their houses
were made of logs mud-chinked, with dirt floors and shake roofs instead
of the usual flat dirt ones. They expected later to whipsaw lumber for
the floors. A huge fireplace in one end of each cabin was used for
cooking as well as for heat until such time as they could get stoves.
Already they planned a garden, and in the evenings were as likely to talk
of turnips, beets, peas, beans, and potatoes as of the new Hereford bulls
Larson and Harshaw were importing from Denver.

For the handwriting was on the wall. Cattlemen must breed up or go out of
business. The old dogy would not do any longer. Already Utah stock was
displacing the poor southern longhorns. Soon these, too, would belong to
the past. Dud and Bob had vision enough to see this and they were making
plans to get a near-pedigreed bull.

Dud sighed in reminiscent appreciation of the old days that were
vanishing. He might have been seventy-two instead of twenty-two coming
February. Behind him lay apparently all his golden youth.

"We got to adopt ourselves to new ways,